


a sword lily's blade, crowning pride

by persephonea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Falling In Love, Gentle Sex, Love Letters, M/M, Pining, Revenge, Tenderness, flower symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonea/pseuds/persephonea
Summary: When Henry catches Connor watching him across the ballroom, doe-eyed and with a smile that makes his heart flutter in his chest excitedly for the first time in a while, he panics. Pride is a thing with clipped wings and Connor is set on teaching Mr. Anderson a lesson, no matter the heartbreak.“That little bird might be tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, Gavin.” Anderson's gruff voice above them snorts condescendingly. It’s deep like his laugh and it echoes within the hollow of Connor.“I’ll show Mr. Anderson who’s not a temptation. He’ll be begging to have me.”





	a sword lily's blade, crowning pride

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a [thread](https://twitter.com/beethkay/status/1124422267910356998), but I liked the concept enough to play with a bit more, add a scene here and there and turn it into a fic. I hope you enjoy whether it's your first time in this P&P land or you came for a re-read! ❤
> 
> Also, there's [art](https://twitter.com/magicbubblepipe/status/1141115902143934469)! Thank you, Noys, once again!

a sword lily’s blade, crowning pride,

a sword lily’s blade bleeds, boldly bent blunt.

***

 

 

The room is full of swirling bodies, the main mass centered on the floor, moving with intricate steps across the surface. Warm light hugs the figures and renders them almost fairy-like in their careful movements, like a delicate illustration which comes alive on the pages of a children’s book. 

Connor prefers to watch the graceful dance from a more comfortable position, where the air isn’t swallowed by heavy panting brought about by a joyful exertion. Leaning against the wall next to an open window, he lets the breeze caresses his flushed cheeks with its cooling touch. His feet still itch to twirl but his friend has been asked to dance by a short, nervous gentleman, and as far as he can see, there are at least three others waiting for their turn to hold Kara’s hand. Connor smiles into his drink; none of them have any idea what they are in for.

His gaze wanders lazily around the place, never lingering for more than a moment, not finding anything worthwhile that would keep his attention. It’s been a while since he found this sort of event fulfilling, seeing that his primary objective does not concern the strenuous climb of the social ladder. 

A sudden bark of deep, booming laugh directs him across the sea of heads to where a tall, large man is towering over the dancing crowd.

He’s standing next to a gentleman Connor recognizes as Gavin Reed, a crude small man on whom Niles had his mind set for a reason that escapes him. The man’s laughing at something that was said, patting Reed good-humoredly on the back, the force of it jostling Reed a little. He twists his face in a grimace and snarls in response.

Connor does not care for his brother’s hunting escapades. He is, however, drawn to the pure strength that the man emanates, his figure so unlike the men surrounding him - silver hair tied back in a tidy low ponytail, a trimmed beard, and a gap-toothed smile which make his crow’s feet more pronounced.

Inadvertently, Connor takes one, two steps closer, as if someone’s pulling at a string, guiding him forward. The man wipes his forehead with a white handkerchief, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear and looking to the ajar window with a palpable longing. 

Connor’s lips spread in a small smile at the expression of an utter need to flee the heat. He can’t help but drink him in. The man’s gaze shifts from the night sky to the right and, inevitably, falls on Connor.

It can’t last more than a few seconds, but Connor feels the moment stretching in between the rapid thuds of his crazed heart. His thoughts come to a halt or fly outside through the window. For the time being, there’s nothing but the overwhelming presence pulling him into its orbit with ease. Those intense blue eyes make him want to take off his clothes in the middle of the room spinning to the tune of waltz. 

Connor staggers as one of the dancers bumps into him. His dignity is saved by Niles’s steady hand on his shoulder, dragging him back to the wall so he doesn’t get his shoes stepped on.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you tonight?”

The spell is broken. Connor tries to find the man’s eyes in the crowd again but the spot where he stood before is empty. He strains his neck, looking around the floor frantically, not paying much attention to Niles who’s watching him carefully.

“What? Uh, nothing, I’m fine,” he says absent-mindedly. “Say, have you seen that gentleman who came here with Mr. Reed?”

“Yes.” Niles smiles and quirks an eyebrow. “I should’ve guessed it was him who caught your eye. Sometimes you’re too predictable, dear brother.”

Connor turns to face him and squints.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating and I don’t care for it.”

“Come on and stop mooning.”

Niles grabs his wrist and forces his way through the mass of people, managing to keep mostly to the wall and uttering just a few apologies at an unfortunate placement of his elbow crashing with someone’s ribs.

“Where are we going?” Connor hisses as Niles hunches forward, leading them outside and under a small balcony, projected over the dark garden. The smell of lilacs growing a few feet away is clouding Connor’s head.

“I know Reed’s usual hiding place at these events.”

He points upwards where Connor can make out the ends of cigars glowing among the stars.

“Did you drag me here to spy on them?”

Niles’s face is close and Connor sees him wink.

“Don’t worry, he can’t be more obtuse than Reed.”

“Oh please, like you don’t want to get-”  

“That little bird might be tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, Gavin.” A gruff voice above them snorts condescendingly. It’s deep like his laugh and it echoes within the hollow of Connor.

“You sure, Anderson? I’d swear little Stern’s caught your interest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s you who can’t seem to stay away from their kin. Just make sure he doesn’t bite your head off.”

The men laugh, the sounds of shared pats on the backs fill the quiet beats between loud pumping of blood in Connor’s temples. His ears burn with humiliation. His chest, however, sings a melody that is light and exhilarating.

“I take back what I said,” Niles whispers. He scoots closer. Squeezing Connor’s hand, he peers at his expression.

“Oh no, brother. I know that look.”

Connor doesn’t listen. His gaze is fixed somewhere to the left of Niles’s shoulder, seeing the memory of piercing blue eyes looking back. They couldn’t have lied, Connor knows this like he knows his mother’s flowers are never coming back - just mere moments ago Anderson’s eyes were alight with desire.

“I’ll show Mr. Anderson who’s not a temptation. He’ll be begging to have me.” 

He pretends not to notice his brother cross himself.

***

Over the course of the next few weeks, Anderson keeps following Connor anywhere he goes, or so it seems. Niles might argue the opposite - the point is they more often than not end up at the same events. The county is only that big after all, and there’s not much socializing taking place to which an unmarried individual wouldn’t be invited, as states the truth universally acknowledged.

Anderson, however, never seems to stay in the same room long enough for Connor to approach and strike up a conversation. The man keeps close to Mr. Reed and his circle of friends and does not give Connor the time of day, no matter what cunning schemes Connor employs in his attempts to catch him alone.

The longer Anderson stays at the Reed residence, the more frustrated Connor gets, his wounded pride roaring in pain and demanding to be soothed, to see the one culpable on their knees. Connor, for his part, won’t relent until he completes the task at hand and thus, with fortunate coincidences tying the opportunities together, a plan is set into motion.

Connor knows Niles can take care of himself, so when he marches across the fields in a raging summer thunderstorm, it’s not because he’s worried about his brother who spent the night away in Mr. Reed’s mansion. 

He’s always tried to be an honest man, and being honest with himself is a part of that. Connor’s thoughts lately have been preoccupied with the images of a mouth drawn in a rough line with even harsher words. What’s more vexing even - he can’t stay away from that low voice which ignited a fire. He’ll be dancing around the flame until he burns himself or until he manages to put it out.

“Mr. Stern?” Henry Anderson stands at the foot of the stairs with a wide, confident stance, but his eyebrows shoot up and his eyes, uncontrolled in a moment of surprise, rove over Connor’s body with an unmasked interest, heat seeping through the gaze.

Connor’s aware of how he looks, white see-through shirt plastered to his chest, dark hardened nubs probably on a delicious if not inappropriate display. He wipes the droplets off his face, straightens up, puffing his chest out a little, letting the wet fabric slip off his shoulder to reveal his collarbone.

He smiles sweetly when Henry’s stare is immediately directed to the bared skin. Finally, he won’t be able to ignore him.

“Mr. Anderson,” he says, bowing. “I came to inquire about the whereabouts and wellbeing of my brother. Would you happen to know where he is?”

Anderson shakes his head as if waking up from a lovely daydream. His hand grips the railing, knuckles turning white trying to maintain a sense of control about himself. Connor’s body thrums with satisfaction. 

“Yes. Yes, He’s with Gavin in his bedchambers. Been there since yesterday evening.” His face twists in a frown and his hands come to smooth down the front of his shirt, distracted. It doesn’t seem like he’s entertained with the thought, if a sour wrinkle nestled in his brow is any indication.

“Do you disapprove?” Connor asks, voice tinted with genuine curiosity.

“Our bodies are carried by the whims of desire, it’s our mind that should exercise control.”

His voice is solemn. Connor doesn’t have to rely on the grapevine to know the widower speaks from experience - people’s tongues run loose when it comes to the wealthy, and he heard about the child’s casket and the months of haunted shadows that followed. He feels a liana of sympathy climb along his sternum.

“Especially when our dignity’s concerned,” the man adds stiffly.

All tenderness leaves Connor’s body as if cut down. Of course, someone of Henry Anderson’s noble birth would not be caught dead with someone of Stern’s stature. 

“Not all minds can reach the same level of enlightenment, some are comfortable in their narrow enclosures.” Connor walks past Anderson, holding his head high as he heads for the parlor. The footsteps follow him after a short moment of stunned silence.

“Uh. May I offer you a change of clothes? Wouldn't want you to catch pneumonia.”

Turning on his heel, Connor shakes his head in haughty disbelief.

“Why? Because you wouldn’t get me off your hands if I fell ill in this house?”

Anderson clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “Your opinion of me is not very high, I see. I assure you I’m first and foremost a man with manners.”

Connor smirks, taking a step towards him, stretching the long line of his body like a delicious bowstring. 

“Oh, I know exactly what type of man you are, Mr. Anderson.” Bringing his fingers to the hemline of his shirt, Connor pulls it over his head, watching closely as Henry’s pupils get blown wide.

“For looking like a drenched kitten, you sure do like playing with fire.”

“For claiming to have control over your bodily desires, you sure do like to look at me a lot.” He touches Henry’s chest, gently rests his hand over his left breast, feeling delightful softness under it. “Tell me, does your heart beat?” A strong rhythm quickens with a breath that leaves Henry’s lips.

Connor knows those eyes didn’t lie to him when they first met. Henry might have tried everything in his power to conceal it, but he put so much effort into avoiding Connor it effectively hindered the original intent. During those nights spent dancing around each other, never with each other, Connor felt his gaze on him, felt the weight of it like an itch he couldn’t scratch, thrilling and infuriating. He knows Henry desires him.

Anderson grabs his wrist and pulls away, looking away from Connor’s eyes promising a wildfire, destruction in dreadful wonder. “Martha! Please bring the gentleman a set of clothes and prepare Mr. Reed’s guest bedroom. He’ll be staying the night.”

***

The storm passes. Connor wanders the empty halls of the large mansion until he finds himself in a small winter garden, attached to the back of the house. In the midst of green leaves hanging over his head, he relaxes, damp air softening his tight and determined posture.

“What am I doing here?” He sighs a question to the sounds of things breathing and growing, slowly but surely as life itself. For a moment, his need for revenge seems petty, embers glowing faintly and giving off little heat. Anderson’s disdain should not concern him, it should not push him to the edge the way it does.

“This place reminds me of my garden back home.” Henry’s voice makes him turn and Connor watches the sadness in his eyes seeping into the harsh lines of his face, melting them into something approachable. “My son used to love playing among the lilies.” 

Connor recognizes an olive branch plucked from the tree nearby and extended in the quiet space between them.

“Our mother had a soft spot for sword lilies - graceful but akin to a deadly weapon, never bowing their heads - she used to say.”

“Sounds like she brought up a lily of her own.”

It makes something stutter in Connor’s chest, the weight of Henry’s gaze, the lightness of his words.

The last rays of sunshine come in broken through large glass panes welded into the roof. They catch on the tips of Henry’s silver hair, making for a godly halo and at that moment, Connor doesn’t want to crush him. He yearns for a gentle touch of his rough hands and for his mouth to press loving endearments over the place where Connor’s heart would learn to beat only for him. He chastises himself for the treacherous wanderings of his mind - maybe he could have Anderson’s body, but he would never have him whole. Pride is a thing with clipped wings.

“Sadly, I never had her green thumb, most of her flowers died with her.” Connor caresses a petal of a dark purple gladiolus, finger skimming over the calyces in a downward line. He meets Henry’s blue eyes over the little jungle separating them.

Anderson regards him, his expression unreadable, Connor can only guess what he thinks of him. Perhaps he’s nothing to him but a poor, fickle child he decided to humor after all. Or perhaps, he’s allowing his resolve to loosen up in this vibrant sanctum of memories.

“It is quite challenging, to look after any living thing. You’ll require an understanding of what life means to you, first.” He chuckles lowly and it startles Connor, it’s the first time he’s heard Anderson express emotion so freely. “Oh, just ramblings of an old man. Sit with me?” 

Gesturing to a pair of upholstered chairs in the corner, he plops down on one of them, stretching in a way that his shirt strains to contain him. Connor raises his brow.

“I didn’t think your wanting to spend time with me willingly would ever come to be. Are you feeling alright?”

Henry’s lips remain smiling. “Maybe I’m just charmed by this lovely intermission after a storm. Everything seems a bit shifted in this light, don’t you think?”

“It has a certain surreal quality to it.” Connor nods and sits down next to him. “The air smells just right.”

“Like a start of something new.”

Anderson talks to Connor about the way the fields around his estate glisten with the morning dew, how he could ride his horse along the treeline till he tires, how the sound of rain knocking on the windows mingles with the crackling of the fireplace on cold spring days.

Connor talks about the smell of ink seeping into the paper, about the swing in their backyard that can take you to the stars if you stretch your tiptoes enough. A fragile truce settles around them with the velvety cover of the night. The sincerity of the moment is enjoyable.

The moonlight warps the space around them and Connor forgets about his mission, about his wounded pride, Henry’s deep voice soothing his wild heart.

“I think it’s time you go to bed. We’re closer to the dawn than we are to the evening.” 

Connor blinks, slowly. He’s been staring at Henry’s lips moving, half asleep for a while.

“So it seems.”

“I-” Henry hesitates and Connor doesn’t know what he wants him to confess. “You should try to grow your mother’s lilies, again. I’m sure you’ll manage this time.”

Connor nods, searching for words that don’t come when Anderson reaches for him. His hand brushes Connor’s cheek, thumb slipping to his mouth, a mere touch of butterfly wings before he retracts it, clenching his fingers into a fist as if Connor’s skin burned him.

“Goodbye, Connor.”

Standing up abruptly, Henry leaves him, without glancing back. Connor’s lips tingle long after his footsteps fade.

***

The dawn finds Connor in a spacious bed, alone, and leaves him to dream about fingers in his mouth and fiery eyes that make his blood boil in more ways than one. It’s midday when the light filtering in through heavy curtains tickles him awake.

He looks around, blearily, disoriented, until he recognizes the family crest above the bedroom door. 

“It wasn’t a dream.”

There’s a pang of excitement at the thought of seeing Henry again, one that momentarily paints over the reality and the words exchanged before the cease-fire of last night.

What he finds downstairs in the parlor is not a pair of baby blues looking to swallow him whole, but steel grey, threatening to bring down the righteous fire from heaven and punish the unjust. The figure of his brother is illuminated by the glow coming in through the high windows. He makes for an impressive archangel.

“Dear lord, what happened?”

“He left me.” 

Connor feels the pain as his own. Niles’s face is gloomy, one wouldn’t find tear tracks if they searched for them, but Connor knows his brother from the moment they found each other in their mother’s womb. His heart was shattered, and the sharp edges made him bleed.

He hates himself for not controlling his tongue. It wins against his first instinct to care for Niles. “Anderson left with him?” At least, his voice doesn’t waver.

Connor knows the answer before Niles nods. Last night was not a promise, it was a mere reverie, a look into what could be but never would be fulfilled. A potential never reached, a song unsung. He knows, but the realization still makes him feel hollow.

“That pitiful man dared to leave me.” Niles’s tone is cold but burns all the same.

“He didn’t deserve to know you,” Connor says and hopes this to be true, for his own sake as well.

His heart hangs heavy for the next few weeks; he keeps going back to that peaceful night, keeps wishing for more time, for another life perhaps. He avoids that small glass pane backroom in their house where mother used to tend to her flowers. He doesn’t plant any.

Niles does everything with a little more fervor these days, laughs and talks with a sharp edge to it, like if he presses hard enough he will cut out the memory, reset the timeline again. The rage doesn’t come until later.

***

“Oh, Connor, I want you to meet him. He’s so good to me.”

Connor squeezes his best friend’s hands, feeling nothing but joy for the first time in a while. Kara is glowing, eyes bright, cheeks red with a brush stroke of love dusting them.

“Do you feel safe with him?”

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but yes. Very much so.” 

The shadows from Kara’s past do not shield the sun that day. A governess could become a caged bird in cruel hands, but she slipped through the bars a long time ago.

Connor smiles. “Then I’m fond of him already.”

“The wedding’s at the Manfred manor. I beg you to come!”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Can’t wait to see your fiance tear up as you walk down the aisle.”

“Hey! I told you that part about the proposal in confidence!” She smacks his shoulder, but her mouth is laughing, unable to contain the happiness of the moment.

“I apologize.” He catches her hand again. “It’s very charming that he feels so strongly about you.”

Her voice softens. “As I do about him.” Her eyes look through the window, at the old oak tree, its branches swaying gently in the September wind. “Who would’ve thought - me, a wife of the Manfred estate steward.”

“You should have the whole word lying at your feet.”

“You always were a dreamer.” She pinches the soft skin in the crook of his elbow. “But I do feel like it is.”

Connor’s a bit enamored with the honesty in her face. 

Kara meets his gaze. She straightens up in her seat and her look grows serious. 

“Connor. I need to tell you something.”

“What is it? Is it about the parting gift? I swear I will smother Niles in his sleep if he told you-”

“It’s about Anderson.”

He doesn’t let himself dwell long on the tingling sensation the name brings to his lips. 

“You know, Luther, he’s often in the company of Mr. Manfred. Markus mentioned Mr. Reed has been very ill-tempered lately. Supposedly since his friend convinced him to end an affair to protect the future of his estate.” Her face pinches with sympathy. “Connor, it was him.”

When the anger comes, it comes with a clarity that lifts the heavy curtain over Connor’s heart. He thinks about the silent pain in the furrow of Niles’s brow. He thinks about the nights he spent remembering and hoping. A bitter taste burns on the tip of his tongue.

Anderson was not looking for a companion that night, he realizes. He was looking to test him and found him unworthy. He was a self-appointed judge who looked into Connor’s heart and deemed it wanting. Connor clenches his fists. Now, there’s nothing left but fury.

***

Manfred Manor greets him with colorful garlands hanging over the French windows. The household’s holding its breath in elated anticipation of the ceremony which is to take place in a small church that afternoon.

Kissing his best friend’s cheek, he memorizes her bright smile so he can take it home with him to keep him company. He still has his brother and mother’s dead garden, he’s been luckier than most. 

“I always thought I’d be nervous but now I’m anything but.”

Her eyes are ardent flames, flickering keenly, impatiently tracking the sun sliding lower on the horizon.

“My heart’s bursting with glee for you.”

He means it.

Kara looks like a summertime dream on the crisp autumn day and Connor lets himself be swept away by the joy that fills the nave as she floats up to her bridegroom. Luther has eyes only for her and their vows are an intimate proclamation that resonates with something lost deep within him.

After, he finds himself walking further into the garden, away from the laughing crowd and a love so strong he can taste it. He only needs a moment alone, shielded by the merciful green that always provided comfort. Closing his eyes, he dreams.

“Connor?” 

An ungraceful snort escapes him. Rubbing a hand over his face, he suppresses the need to giggle. He should have stopped thinking about that voice months ago. It still follows him everywhere.

“It was cowardly to hope you would come here rather than to see you sooner.”

Connor lets his hand fall, staring at the imposing figure filling the hedge archway. The memory of a butterfly touch against his lips has them fluttering their fragile wings inside him for a short moment before he remembers. Covered with sudden white frost, wings crack easily.

“On the contrary. It took a lot of self-absorbed, dauntless ignorance to even think I would ever want to talk to you again.”

Henry has the audacity to take a step back, stricken. 

“What do you want?” Connor grits through his teeth. If he doesn’t let his eyes wander, if he doesn’t remember the exact tint of his voice in the melted palette of that remote night, he can point the venom in his heart directly to Henry’s veins.

Henry reaches out for him. A hand stays hanging in the space, but is unable to get through the compact barrier of Connor’s hatred projected between them.

“I - Connor, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” A flustered tinge of red rises on Henry’s cheeks.

The words do not reach Connor. He won’t allow them to find roots in his chest - it’s buzzing in his ears, the voice far away, covered by a heavy cloth like a bird put to sleep in his gilded cage.

“That’s curious, you see I couldn’t forget about you soon enough.”

The lie tastes like charcoal, numbing his senses with its weirdly sweet film. Henry’s face doesn’t shift, his eyes drinking in Connor’s poisoned spit.

“Seems like you put a lot of thought into how you feel about me nonetheless.”

Connor feels a shiver run down his spine - Anderson’s absolute lack of tact makes him shake with rage.

“You broke my brother’s heart,” he says, voice even despite the storm rolling around his stomach. “I knew your disdain for our family’s status but to drive the two of them apart was far from an act of a noble man, sir.”

Anderson opens his mouth but closes it when Connor raises his hand. 

“You said we are driven by earthly desires, but our mind is above them. Perhaps, the nobility you’re so fond of is not found in the blood. Our acts show the truth.”

“I’m sorry that this is how I made you think of me. It wasn’t my intention.”

Connor laughs, bitter pebbles thrown into Anderson’s face. “That is not an apology.”

The man furrows his brow. The confused clench of his fists disrupts the clean line of his posture. “Look, Gavin is hot-blooded, he’s swayed by his emotions too easily. He needed a leading hand that would look after his best interests. I didn’t know your brother-”

“Exactly. You didn’t know him. And you don’t know me. You had no right to intervene.”

“I thought I was doing right by him! Even after you and I-”

“Don’t.” Connor doesn’t want to be reminded of that trembling of his foolish heart anymore.

“Connor.” Anderson takes a step closer, a wild look on his face. “You have to understand,” he insists. “After I left, there wasn’t a day I wouldn’t think about you.”

Connor does not quiver from the fire burning in his eyes. Anderson’s silver hair falls in soft waves around the rough sculpted lines, his figure drawing Connor to him with a gravitational pull. He’s larger than life and everything Connor used to dream of once.

“I was wrong. I want to know what this could be.” Henry at last closes the distance between them.

Connor considers him for a moment, his tone perfectly conversational. “Tell me, did you think about me when you touched yourself?”

The shock is clear in the twitching of Henry’s lips. He licks them and Connor follows the pink tip as it disappears again.

Connor wraps slender fingers around Henry’s large hand and guides to his hip, up to his chest, down to the round curve above his thigh. He had never been touched like this before. He wishes his heart wasn’t breaking with each gentle caress.

“Yes,” Henry breathes out, a shaky sigh almost touching Connor’s lips. His shoulders slump and he rests his forehead against Connor’s. 

Where his joints unwind, Connor’s taut as a string.

“Please, be mine.”

An echo of a memory washes over Connor.  _ He’ll be begging to have me. _ This does not taste like victory.

“I won’t be a subject of your desire.” Pursuing his lips and closing his eyes, Connor tries to drown out the hold of Henry’s voice which is taking roots inside his chest.

“What if I asked for your hand?”

Connor yanks his hand away. Anderson being haunted by his body does not make him swallow his tongue, his proposal is nothing but desperation devoid of grace. Where does love lie in a man who won’t think to ask for forgiveness?

“I’d say you weren’t asking the right question.”

With a butterfly touch, a press of his palm against Anderson’s cheek, he leaves him amidst sweetly smelling bushes of late roses, with a turn of his heel, crushes the blooming hope, smothered by their pride.

***

Connor does not think about him. He does not think about his hands, warm on Connor’s skin. He does not think about the deep color of his voice, asking him to surrender. And he definitely does not think about his eyes, every time he closes his.

He’s sitting at the window, watching the winter slowly take over the garden, the oak tree greying and bowing down to its approaching reign. Connor wishes, for a moment, he was born a nightingale, free to sing his heart out, where nothing would hold him down.

“Connor! There was a letter for you down at the post office!”

Niles shuts the door with a bit of flare and presents the sealed letter to Connor like one would a token of their unshakable loyalty to their sire.

Connor frowns, taking it out of his hands. “Who in their right mind would bother to pay for the service? Kara would just send it with Ben when he comes through here.”

“Look at the paper, that is definitely not one of Kara’s.”

Sliding his fingers over the surface, he feels the smooth, thick texture which would cost him an arm and a leg if he were to purchase it. Niles watches him with his eyebrow raised.  _ Connor Stern, _ reads the addressee, in a strong, confident cursive.

“Will you open it?”

Connor shushes him and breaks the seal, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The letter’s hiding a delicate ink drawing of a sword lily, its blossoms growing over the top left corner. It’s only because of Niles’s eyes on him that he doesn’t drop the paper on the floor.

He hasn’t been thinking about him. He hasn’t until he is. Anderson’s gentle touch is carved into the lines of his penmanship. No matter how much Connor denies it, he hoped. He didn’t forget a thing - his lungs still ache with the same intensity, breath stuck midway through. 

Niles takes one look at his pale face and sighs. “If you want me to stoke the fire with it, just say so.”

Connor shakes his head, slowly. “No, leave it. I’ll... I’ll be in the back.” 

Amidst his mother’s empty pots sitting sadly on the windowsill, waiting to be cared for, he unfolds the letter.

_ Dear Connor, _

_ I write to you with a hope of finding you in a moment of grace. I will spare you any repetition of my sentiments which you would find in poor taste, but you must know my mind doesn’t know peace. The apprehension of all the ways I have wronged you and your family weighs on me. You were right - my actions were not founded on impartial observations, it was not my place to detach Reed from your brother. My friend - I had often watched him fall and burn like a moth in a flame, and convincing myself I was saving him from heartbreak, I chose not to give the quality of your brother’s intentions a chance.  _

_ Pardon me, if I pain you with the reminder, but that night, being warmed by the strength of your light, it kindled a spark within me, one I could not put out even though I tried by placing distance between us. It might not seem plausible, but the truth is this: your status was not a concern of mine when I parted with you, it was the shadow of my past clouding my vision. After I lost all that was dear to me, I vowed never to keep close anything that could be taken away. And at that moment, Connor, how I wished to keep listening to your voice. My worry was for Reed but I fell just as ardently; in the end, no one’s heart was saved from harm. _

Connor’s fingernails leave small dents in his palm. He doesn’t hear the nightingale singing outside for the loud pumping of his heart in his ears.

His eyes are drawn to the bottom of the page.

_ I’m aware that my shortcomings might have robbed me of you forever, but I’m a selfish man and still cannot help asking for what I don’t deserve.  _

_ I know the question now - will you find it in your heart to forgive me? _

Connor stares at Henry’s signature, presses his fingertips to it, tracing the curves of the name that he can taste on his tongue, still. The question loosens the iron grip on his chest, the small sprout shooting, wrapping around his ribs, growing rapidly in the freed space.

Touching the side of his warm face, he realizes he’s smiling - a small, joyful thing, kept a secret in the sleeping garden. He slips the letter under his shirt, finding the placement of it comforting. He decides then, quickly and with an efficiency he’s always cultivated and prided himself in.

Striding out of the room, he heads for the front of the house where he left Niles.

“Niles, I need to catch Ben in town to ask him-”

His brother isn’t alone in the parlor.

“Mr. Reed?”

“Stern.” Reed nods in acknowledgment, clutching his own letter close to his chest.

Connor looks at Niles, searching for any signs of distress under his usual aloof manners. “Everything alright?”

Niles’s expression softens, enough for Connor to know that he’s mastered the situation and is fully in control of its course.

“Yes. Mr. Reed will be staying for dinner, actually.”

Reed clears his throat, surprised, watching Niles with wide eyes. “I will?”

“Don’t make me rethink that decision.” Reed stands up straighter. The corners of Connor’s mouth tug upwards.

“Connor, you were saying?”

“I intended to ask Ben for directions.”

“To where?”

“Anderson’s mansion.”

***

The sun is setting when Connor’s horse comes up on the hill from which he can see a large estate, lying at the bottom of the valley. Reed’s advice has led him successfully to his destination. He takes the view in - weirdly enough, the house looks welcoming, cradled in the palm of an oak forest taking over the northern hillsides; this is the place to which Henry’s life is tied.

Connor hops off the horse and guides them down through the sloping meadows, enjoying the way tall grass kisses his hands. Nobody stops him as he comes around the back and leaves his mare in the stables, next to a trough filled with water. The buzz must be centered inside, the residents preparing for the close of the day and gathering around the table for dinner.

He recognizes a particular smell, heavy yet comforting without being crushing, caressing the tip of his nose in a tickling kiss. Lingering on Henry’s clothes, it was just a taste of a faraway mythical land from behind the enchanted mountains. His gaze falls on a beautiful, delicately paned glass room, attached to the rear of the house, then further - on plum and apple trees, a seemingly unkempt orchard with spates of wildflowers and tufts of late fall roses peeking through without any apparent arrangement. 

Walking through it, his feet unwittingly carrying him deeper inside, he realizes there’s a method in this madness. So unlike the elegance and artfulness of a man-made landscape, the rough beauty is bursting at the seams - unexpected and captivating like its owner.

It’s Connor who finds Henry this time. His tall figure easily spotted among the rows of trees. Connor watches him pick an apple and roll it in his hand. 

“I got your letter.”

Henry startles, turns around, the gentle breeze sweeping away his silver hair, and Connor’s heart calls out to him so strongly, it makes his knees weak. He looks like home, amidst the wild garden.

“You came.” Henry’s tone rises, disbelief woven into it.

“I thought I owed you the truth, and what better way to show you than by my coming here.”

Stepping closer to Henry, he reaches for his hand. His fingers close around hardened skin, thumb caressing his knuckles.

“See, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, too.”

Henry breathes out, softly. The wind takes it from his mouth before it reaches Connor.

“Does that mean you decided on your answer?”

“Yes.”

Henry’s eyes are adorned with delicate wrinkles as he smiles. “Yes, as in you decided?”

“Yes, as in you asked the right question. There’s no place for pride between us anymore.”

He brings Henry’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss into the harsh lines. The taste of him envelops Connor, he can’t wait to know him whole.

Henry drops the apple and curls his palm around the curve of Connor’s neck.

Connor likes how well they fit together. “You may ask another.”

Pulling him closer, Henry’s voice is low, a question meant only for them. 

“Will you have me?”

Connor’s lips spread in a smile, too, delighted. “Are you asking to be mine, Mr. Anderson?”

“It would make me the most fortunate man alive.”

Connor leans in, whispers into Henry’s mouth: “Like I would let you go now.”

Henry kisses him sweetly, coaxing him open like an evening primrose opening with the last rays of sunlight. Connor feels his skin burning in the quickly cooling air where Henry’s hands touch him. Nobody’s ever held him quite like Henry, and he’s thrilled about the prospect of many of his firsts with a man whose love melted proud walls that guarded both their hearts.

“May I ask you to stay then?”

Connor presses the answer to his lips.

His movements are unpracticed, far from the gracefulness with which Henry holds him, but what he wants him to know, he manages to translate through quiet sighs and fingers digging deep into Henry’s strong shoulders.

“I want to see the lilies bloom. Might just have to linger here a bit longer.” Connor says, tucking stray hair behind Henry’s ear.

Henry strengthens the hold of his arms around him. His kisses catch the edge of Connor’s jaw with a hint of teeth, telling Connor he’s smiling.

Connor’s hand rests on Henry’s cheek, the pads of his fingers feeling the resistance of short prickling hair. Loud pulsing of blood in his veins impels him to seek the truth. “I have a question for you, too.”

Pulling away, clear blue eyes find his. Connor feels a familiar tug, just like that first evening he saw Henry looking from across the twirling ballroom.

“Ask it, then, love.”

The care with which Henry’s glistening lips wrap around the word makes Connor’s head spin, his thoughts wound like a thread connected to the powerful beat of Henry’s heart. He finds himself grow braver with an assurance that comes with the feeling of being loved by someone like him.

“What did you think about when you touched yourself?”

Henry lets out a sound verging close to a growl that vibrates through Connor’s body.

“Connor-” 

His name hangs between them for a fraction of a moment until it gets swallowed by Henry’s hungry mouth again. Connor’s melting like wax on the proverbial wings.

“Tell me,” he says, pushing Henry’s body into the soft grass. Not breaking the kiss, he climbs into his lap, fitting perfectly against the curve of his belly.

“I-” Henry gulps and takes a shaky breath. His fingers splay over the side of Connor’s neck, caressing his collarbone in a broad stroke where his shirt fell open. “I wanted to know how your skin would feel under my hands.”

Leaning in, he licks the pulsing vein, the sweat beading in the hollow of Connor’s throat.

“How you’d taste.”

Connor clings to him, worrying at his bottom lip, overwhelmed by the closeness yet craving more.

“How you’d look spread out under me. On the sheets or blooming between the flowers in this garden.”

His eyes ask a question of their own, searching hands slipping under the fabric, leaving scorching marks in their wake.

“Please,” Connor sighs out. He helps Henry unbutton his shirt, deftly shrugging it off. Henry’s gaze tingles pleasantly as it roves over the planes of exposed skin with ravenous intent. “I need to see you too.”

Connor’s always had trouble with patience. Once his mind settles on something, he’d walk through fire to reach his goal. At the moment, he’s torn between wanting to devour the man holding him and wanting to be devoured by him - it would be a Sisyphean task to assign priorities to his desires. He nigh on rips Henry’s shirt open.

“Easy there.” Henry chuckles and Connor watches the movement of his belly with fascination, shaking with laughter, ripples spreading over the soft flesh. “Like what you see?” Henry’s tone is fond, although an anxious curiosity makes the question rise sharper at the end.

Connor’s fingers twitch, so he buries them in Henry’s silver hair, covering his body in thickets over his chest and growing densely on the path down.

“That would be an understatement.”

Henry smiles again, a gap between his front teeth poking out, tugging at Connor’s heartstrings. He palms at Connor’s thighs, his large hands sliding upwards ever so slowly.

“Want to know what else I thought about? How you’d sound if I touched you-” a pause as his hand finds its place, cupping Connor’s cock through his trousers, “-here.”

Connor moans, a low exhale winding up lost in the sweetly smelling air, intertwining with the billowing leaves of grass.

Thumbing at the two top buttons, Henry easily pulls the front of Connor’s pants open. Connor’s head falls into the crook of Henry’s neck when he wraps a hand around him, hiding the length of him in his palm. It almost makes Connor giggle hysterically, how much better it feels when it’s Henry’s touch as opposed to his own, after waking up from a feverish dream on a lonely night where the clever blue eyes haunted his rest.

“I used to dream about touching you,” he admits, puffing out hot breath against Henry’s dampened skin. Trembling with excitement, he reaches inside Henry’s breeches, fingers closing around solid, velvety girth. Henry whines gruffly in the back of his throat and Connor’s clumsy hands grow insistent with the realization of the power they hold.

“Hey, like this.”

Supporting Connor’s back, Henry tugs him closer and covers Connor’s hand with his, bringing them together as one. The slide of it is so delicious, Connor can’t help the sounds that push out of his chest as Henry glides against him.

“Henry, Henry-” he pants just short of Henry’s mouth, off-center, unable to find port in the midst of the boisterous, swiftly swirling sea. Henry’s guiding hand leads him to the peak with unshakable confidence, which still has them both oddly shaking in their own right.

“Let go, love.”

Henry swipes his thumb over them and bites down gently where Connor’s neck meets his shoulder and Connor falls apart, sweet and grand, the last tones of a song finishing and echoing like thunder. Henry follows soon after him, spilling in their joined hands.

They hold onto each other like roots tangled deep in the dark ground until their rapid breathing slows down and they hear the birds trilling in the crowns of the trees again. Henry’s beard tickles where he mouths languidly at Connor’s skin, mumbling unintelligible endearments into the soft spot under the square of his jaw. 

“Come here.”

Henry brings one hand to the back of Connor’s neck while the soiled one slips to the small of his back, kneading the muscles there, an easy comfort. Tilting Connor’s head, Henry finds his mouth and this time, the kiss is a promise, an unmistakable vow for Connor to taste on the tip of Henry’s tongue.

“I want to be yours too,” he murmurs against Henry’s lips, his own wish pressed like a fluttering newborn bird nestling, willing its fragile wings to take flight to skies. He trusts it will be safe in the care of Henry’s careful hands.

That spring, Connor plants his mother’s sword lilies in their garden. They don’t die.

**Author's Note:**

> once more, all the love to [this lovely bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeepGrandCherokeeper/) aka [@beepgrandchero](https://twitter.com/beepgrandchero), who's been my ride or die beta and always done a wonderful job
> 
> i’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beethkay) where i'm still balls deep in hankcon  
> if you're so inclined, you can leave kudos or comments, or check out other stuff i've done! (psst i also have a ko-fi page linked on my twitter)


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